Authors note: Thank you all for the feedback it is very much appreciated. This story is dedicated to the woman of my dreams.
Thank you to Slavegirl 70 for taking the time to edit and give feedback.
*****
In my dream she asked no questions, she just commanded. In my dream I obeyed completely and without hesitation. In my dream we were in love, the kind of love that would survive anything, the kind of love that made you do anything to know happiness. In my dream the only sounds were cascades of sultry moans and demands with the occasional slap to my backside.
In the real world the sound was my alarm clock. In the real world I have never been with a woman or participated in any of the deviant acts I see in my dreams almost nightly. In the real world I was conservative, very much reserved. In the real world I was wet and late for work.
I scrambled out of bed and began my morning routine, albeit the abbreviated version where toast is not enjoyed but inhaled. My morning commute involved a short drive and a 30-minute train ride into the city, and while on most days the train was a haven for stolen moments lost in a book, today I had far too much on my mind.
Why was I still dreaming about these things?
I kept asking myself. It had been two months now, and the dreams got more and more frequent; as time went on I was beginning to worry.
Am I a lesbian
? Those four words haunted me consistently since I met her and began dreaming the very things I imagine a 16-year old boy dreams about.
I couldn't be
. I have had boyfriends and enjoyed them sexually, well, except the one guy we don't talk about but we won't get sidetracked here. I will admit I have been having a bit of a dry spell, but I was taking care of myself on a mostly regular basis and I usually thought of movie stars like most women.
I don't need this right now.
I stepped off the train and resumed my rush—the time for thought was over.
My heels clicked on the linoleum in quick succession, trying to make it to the morning meeting before my boss. I felt the eyes of judgement on me while I almost sprinted through the lobby (as much as my skirt would allow) and past the receptionist. I could see the glass meeting room from across the office; everyone was taking their seats. I was late. I reached the door right as the meeting started and the five other employees in attendance gave me mixed looks of annoyance and pity while I quietly excused myself and sat down.
I worked in a small fashion design company and I enjoyed it very much. At least I had, up until the point I got promoted. I enjoyed working quietly, sewing, drawing and only having to keep track of myself. But unfortunately my performance got me noticed and now I have meetings and subordinates. Fashion was my escape from the world, I loved to put fabrics together and design a masterpiece that was elegant and simple, much like me.
I finally made it to my office, which was the only perk to my promotion I enjoyed—I had private space. Slumping in my chair, I was already exhausted and of course my phone rang immediately.
"Good Morning, this is Christina," I answered quickly.
"You don't have to say who it is Tina, I called you."
I knew the voice and should have expected the call.
Why wouldn't she call, I was late!
I felt my palms begin to sweat and my heart race just at the sound of her voice.
What is wrong with me
?
"Uh, yes ma'am, of course. H...how can I help you this morning?" I stammered, completely embarrassed.
"I would like to see you in my office, and please be quick Tina," she calmly ordered and hung up.
I stood up, went to my full-length mirror on the wall and just looked at myself while I slowed my breath.
I have no idea why you are getting all worked up but just relax, go to her office, apologize quickly and then just listen to what she has to say.
I straightened my skirt, ensured my blouse had not acquired a stain during the morning commute, took another deep breath and headed off to her office. My stride was one of confidence and determination; my brain was soothing me, telling me to relax..
I reached her door, knocked twice, and she quickly beckoned me in. There she was. Ms. Taylor—lead of design and development, master seamstress and a genius with fabric. She came to our company almost two months ago and already had made quite an impression. She was quick and stunning and for some reason decided I needed a promotion. Every day she was impeccable as if she was the model and not the designer.
Today she wore a more formal pantsuit which complimented her body completely, especially with the long collared heavy dipped blouse that gave us all a nice view of her neckline and cleavage. Her hair was a bouncing mesh of black twists that were just long enough to cause her to have to move them from her face from time to time. She was a very beautiful woman and equally talented. I could not help but admire her, but what I felt and dreamt was more than just admiration—it was unsettling.
"Sit down Tina," Ms. Taylor requested, as she moved around her desk to lean against it in front of me. "Are you alright? I only ask because you are not usually the late type and I want to make sure everything is OK and you just slept in a bit."
She was the only person that called me Tina ever, she said it the first time we met and never tried anything else. I felt like she effectively renamed me.
"No Ms. Taylor, I am just fine—I overslept this morning. I have not been getting the best nights' rest. I do apologize, I know you gave me this position and I appreciate you trusting me. I don't want you to think that I don't deserve it." I responded, delivering my scripted apology effectively.
"You deserve that position if not more, and I am not sure you see that Tina," she responded.
I could not help but stare at her full lips as she spoke they seemed to dance around the words they formed with the precision of an expert dancer. I felt myself lost in her words, just admiring her beauty and her wonderful caramel complexion.
"Are you listening Tina?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"I...uh...yes I was...I mean no. I apologize Ms. Taylor, I seem to be out of it this morning—distracted I guess." I felt compelled to tell the truth to her; I did not want to continue to disappoint her.
"I can tell that you are distracted, but I am going to need you to get your head in the game. You are going with me to find some new fabric today. I am glad you wore the stockings and skirt today, not only do they look good on you they will be great for dropping some prices. Now go and get your team set up for today and I will call you when I am ready."
I left her office and did as instructed, letting her last words roll around in my mind. I set my team up to work on the new designs for our presentation next week; the fall line was right around the corner and while I hated to be in charge, I hated failing even more.
I returned to my office only to realize I had been effectively told to wait. I found myself nervous and fidgeting, thinking about how the day with Ms. Taylor would play out.
"Would I be helpful? Would she listen to my opinion? Am I just someone to carry the bags? Did she really say she liked my stockings or did she say legs?"
My mind raced with uncertainty and doubt tinged with confusing sexual undertones. I lifted the top of my skirt and found solace in running my fingers against the nylon that gripped my thigh.
It felt forbidden in the workplace, yet so comforting that I let my head fall back slightly and traced the tops of my stockings with both hands. I started from the outsides of my thighs and followed them all the way across, slowly, until my hands met on the inside of my thighs and traced them back. I took deep breaths in rhythm with my soft touches; I felt so at ease, so in sync, so relaxed, I spread my legs wider to lengthen my strokes around my thighs without thinking, just enjoying how the nylon felt against my skin.
She crept into my thoughts, into my moment of peace, and I pushed my legs apart further. She wanted me to be displayed for her, open and ready, and I was. She opened my blouse slowly one button at a time, commanding me not to move an inch as she removed my clothing. She teased me, making me beg her for it asking me questions and only continuing after I answered them.
Three buttons down, looking me directly in my eyes she asked me, "Do you want to be naked in front of me?"
I gulped, unsure if I could answer out loud, my hands gripping the armrests of my chair, my legs spread obscenely and the only woman I have ever wanted standing in between my legs with her hands on the buttons that could expose my still-covered breasts.
"Yes," I squeaked.
"Good," she smiled, undoing another button and opening my shirt exposing my flat belly and my breasts, still in the bra I selected while thinking of her this morning.
"Now be a good girl and lean forward," she prodded, sliding her hands up my sides caressing my skin, leaving goosebumps in her wake and reaching for the clasp of my bra.
I could inhale her scent she was so close. I wanted nothing more in that moment but to kiss her full, supple lips but I dared not move. In one expert motion she freed my breasts and slowly lifted my bra out of the way. She slowly leaned back and placed one high heel-clad foot on the edge of my chair, in between my legs.
"Do you want me to taste your perky little tits?" she teased, fully knowing that's what I wanted.
"Yes please!" I begged, with no shame whatsoever.
"Take my shoe off!" she commanded.
I complied immediately, removing her expensive shoe, staring intently on her beautifully manicured toes. The contrast of her caramel complexion with the deep red toes was completely arousing. I just held her foot in my hand, unsure what to do next, although what I wanted was to taste her—any part of her—even if it was her toe.
"Put my foot down, if you want me to touch you. First you must prove you deserve it." She said, sitting down on the edge of my desk, keeping her foot planted at my crotch. "What will you do to prove you deserve it, my needy white pet?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and watching me intently.
She had never called me her pet before, nor had she made mention of our differences in race, and while I felt I should have been offended, I was actually flush with desire. "Whatever you tell me to do, tell me what I need to do to deserve it, please." I begged once again, meaning every word.
